


Breathe Deep and Hesitate

by Carmenlire



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Canon, References to Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, hints at immortal husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 07:37:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17504372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmenlire/pseuds/Carmenlire
Summary: The water below shifts restlessly. He watches impassively as moonlight bounces off soothing waves and he wonders if he’d feel so calm if he let himself fall. He is so tired and his head always feels like it’s below water. He’s drowning, he’s dying, and he doesn’t care.He’s twenty two and feels ancient. The rest of his life rolls out before him and Alec tries to tamp down on the desperation that chokes him at the knowledge.Or, Alec's always been fond of heights.





	Breathe Deep and Hesitate

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for suicidal ideation and references to depression and self-harm.
> 
> Note: This is the only thing I'm posting this week. I'm taking a little bit of a break. No worries, nothing hiatus-length but don't expect anything new for several days.

He stares over New York with empty eyes. His heart feels coated in ice and distantly, he wonders at the last time he felt anything.

He is so, incredibly cold.

By all rights, he should be on top of the world. At twenty two years old, his entire life is ahead of him and with a sardonic laugh, he shakes his head.

That’s the problem.

Nothing helps anymore. Nothing makes him feel anything and while there’s a part of him that panics at the realization, most of him is numb.

He’s always numb these days.

When it gets too much-- when training doesn’t help, when the pain in his hands can’t out-shadow the pain in his chest-- he leaves.

Walking out of The Institute is always a breath of fresh air but nothing compares to _this_.

Alec stands on the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge and closes his eyes as the breeze runs over him. He’d activated a glamour rune so there aren’t any worried mundanes giving him wary looks or trying to help and he's left alone.

He doesn’t want any help.

This isn’t unusual. He blames his archer’s disposition, but Alec’s never felt wary of heights. Really, he prefers it. From this vantage point, he can see everything.

The water below shifts restlessly. He watches impassively as moonlight bounces off soothing waves and he wonders if he’d feel so calm if he let himself fall.

He is so fucking tired and his head always feels like it’s below water. He’s drowning, he’s dying, and he doesn’t care.

He’s twenty two and feels ancient. The rest of his life rolls out before him and Alec tries to tamp down on the desperation that chokes him at the knowledge.

There’s no life for him. Scoffing to himself, he wonders if he’s supposed to be content with hiding forever. There is no world where Alec Lightwood comes out. There’s no way through the darkness.

In the not-too-distant future, Alec will marry a woman and sire a couple of brats and live every day hating himself and the world around him as the noose tightens imperceptibly around his neck, strangling him until there’s nothing left but guilt and regret and overwhelming bitterness.

The first time Alec came to the Brooklyn Bridge, he was fifteen and had just been dressed down by Maryse in front of all the other shadowhunter recruits. It’d been humiliating and it had taken everything Alec had not to shrink away.

He’d fled at the first opportunity, though, and had wandered the streets of New York on a balmy fall night. Walking over the bridge, Alec had stopped suddenly as a thought had struck him.

Slowly, he’d edged to the side of the bridge before hauling himself over. There was a short ledge and he’d stood there, hands gripping the railing behind him, and stared down at possibility.

That was years ago and this had become a silent retreat for him. When things became too much, when acting became too hard and his mask started cracking, Alec came to the bridge and spent some time alone.

Wondering.

It’s a frigid January evening and Alec’s been here for ages. He can’t feel his hands and he thinks of just how easy it would be to let go. It’d be an accident-- numb hands and a slippery railing.

The thought is so seductive he could cry in frustration.

There’s always _something_ that holds him back-- Isabelle would be devastated, Jace would be consumed with pain as the parabatai bond severed.

His mother would always consider it a failing weakness and Alec refuses to give her the satisfaction, not when he’s worked so hard to become the impenetrable shadowhunter she’s worked tirelessly to shape.

Alec closes his eyes and feels tears turn to ice on his cheeks. God, he is so tired. 

It’s like exhaustion pulls at his bones, at his goddamn soul, and he doesn't know if he can keep going. His life is nothing.

Patrols, mission reports, endless critiques. There’s nothing in this life for him and Alec can’t see a fucking silver lining to save his life.

He chuckles humorlessly. _Literally_.

Alec can’t tell anyone about his biggest secret, the thing that keeps him awake at night, that fills his heart with dread and desperation.

Alec’s gay and fuck if he doesn’t know that it'll be his downfall. He’s known since he was a child. Sometimes, he thinks that he’s always known that his heart beats just a little bit differently than everyone else’s around him.

Lately, the truth has become suffocating. He looks around as his peers get engaged and start having little shadowhunters and his guts fills with quiet devastation.

He doesn’t want that-- would rather carve out his goddamn heart than settle down with a wife and a passel of children.

He feels guilt, all the time. He hates hiding that part of himself. With increasing frequency, he’s so angry that he can’t see straight. Why should it fucking matter-- why does his mettle as a shadowhunter-- as a man-- depend so strongly on who he wants to love, who he wants to fuck.

Why do other people care so much. What gives them the right to dictate what his life should look like.

He feels like an impostor in his own goddamn family. Guilt gnaws at his very bones as shame burns deep. It’s like there’s a veil between him and everyone else and he never feels totally connected to the world around him.

His world is empty. His heart feels coated in ash.

Sometimes he wonders if he has a heart at all.

When the feeling washes over him, heavy and all-consuming, he goes to the training room and practices for hours-- blades, arrows, it doesn’t matter. All he needs is to feel pain, to make the physical match the mental.

That’s not enough, though.

So, sometimes he leaves and goes to the bridge and wonders what would happen if he surrendered.

The truth is, he is so fucking tired of fighting. He’s tired of feeling like this, every damn day. He’s tired of thinking of his future and feeling nothing but impotent rage and grief.

Distantly, he wonders how much longer he can keep at this. No one can reach him and Alec doesn’t want anyone to get too close, in any case.

Looking down at the water as the wind whips over him, he sees sweet goddamn oblivion and almost, _almost_ releases his grip.

The water below is seductive. It lures him closer and closer and he can feel himself shifting imperceptibly further away from the railing. As his body hovers over the water, Alec thinks about his life and what he’d be giving up.

Shaking his head a little, he feels dazed as he considers his choices. He doesn’t matter. He might become the Head of the Institute one day-- might even work his way up to Consul, Angel and Maryse Lightwood willing-- but that’s years away.

Right now, he’s nothing but another soldier, easily expendable. His future is bleak as fuck and for the millionth time, Alec concludes that there’s nothing in this life for him.

Swallowing hard, Alec closes his eyes and feels his chest crack open. He is so goddamn tired that breathing hurts.

The past few months, he’s grown bolder. Alec releases one hand and brings it up in front of him. He studies it, detached, and clinically catalogs the scars, the blunt nails and capable fingers.

His balance shifts, becomes just a little more precarious.

Alec can imagine it perfectly. The weightlessness that would be so welcome after years of feeling like Atlas, shackled with the weight of the world atop his shoulders, grinding his very soul to dust.

The impact, jarring as it fragmented his consciousness into a thousand pieces.

And then, nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Alec replays the possibilities a thousand times in a second.

He wants to let go.

He wants to be free.

Alec takes a shuddering breath and feels his grip on the railing loosen, just a little.

It would be so easy-- he wonders if people would chalk it up to an unfortunate accident or if whispers would follow.

Alec almost lets go that night, when the wind is as cold as his heart, when he feels ice crawling through his veins.

He wants it so badly that he can taste it but something holds him back, like it always does.

With a weary sigh, he wraps both hands around the railing tightly and climbs back over the railing. Leaning against the cold iron, water at his back, Alec closes his eyes and tilts his head up to the sky.

He focuses on his breathing, shuddering inhales following choking exhales and feels his soul weep.

Another night will lead into another day and Alec doesn’t know how he’ll make it through. Every step feels like a fucking trek up Everest, too much effort with not enough pay-off.

Opening his eyes, his gaze is unseeing for a few minutes before he focuses on the stars overhead.

A million twinkling lights that make him feel lonely and alone.

Alec studies the sky and thinks of all the reasons he stays, all the reasons why he finds himself on this side of the railing night after night after night.

Isabelle. Jace. Max. Pure goddamn spite and a choking hope that maybe one day-- _Angel, please_ \-- things will get better and he’ll be glad he stayed and fought.

It’s not a lot but for tonight it’s enough. Alec doesn’t know how long that will stay the case, but he’ll count his blessings one day at a time.

Shuddering, Alec straightens from the railing and starts walking back towards Manhattan, towards an Institute that makes his breath stall in his chest.

Alec doesn’t look back, has never seen the point. Heights have always been calming to him-- the possibility, the double-edged feeling of relief and destruction that beckons like the most alluring siren-- and Alec comes back to the bridge more often than he’d like to admit, testing his resolve every fucking night with burning eyes and gritted teeth.

His tendency to seek out the edge of oblivion doesn’t go away, remains a comfort for years to come.

Alec watches the world from above and chooses life through sheer force of will every damn time until it’s not a choice but a given, until a man comes along who’s embrace is more comforting than the promise of weightless oblivion.

Until the edge doesn’t seem like the best deal for everyone involved but the ending of a life worth living.

One day, Alec wakes up and realizes that he doesn’t ever want this life to end-- that he wants to spend the rest of eternity standing right next to the love of his life, weathering storms in his arms and shielding his husband from his own.

Life is hard and unforgiving but Alec comes to find that happiness is in the little things and that he wouldn’t give those up for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr or twitter @carmenlire!


End file.
